


colorful words

by faerieflame



Series: the shooting star [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (Just to be safe), Claude meets the nobles of the Alliance!, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, First Impressions, First Meetings, Gen, Past Violence, Pre-Canon, spoilers for claude's backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 17:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20660930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerieflame/pseuds/faerieflame
Summary: Claude stares at the mirror, pressing his lips together as he thinks. He lives here now, in Derdriu. He’s only ever heard stories from his mother, but now it’s not just a story. It’s real. His eyes shift to the left to look out the window, to gaze at the water and even farther to stare at Fódlan’s Throat. His throat burns and his eyes begin to glaze with petty tears — please, he’s only been here for two days.The Alliance, from a set of new eyes.





	colorful words

**Author's Note:**

> hi i love claude von riegan so much

Claude stares at the mirror, pressing his lips together as he thinks. He _ lives _here now, in Derdriu. He’s only ever heard stories from his mother, but now it’s not just a story. It’s real. His eyes shift to the left to look out the window, to gaze at the water and even farther to stare at Fódlan’s Throat. His throat burns and his eyes begin to glaze with petty tears — please, he’s only been here for two days. 

“My Lord,” a voice from outside Claude’s room says. That makes Claude wrinkle his nose. “Your grandfather requests your presence.”

“‘m going!” Claude responds, his Almyran accent still a bit heavy in his mouth. He wipes his eyes and blinks the redness away. Satisfied, he opens the door and follows the maid to the main hall where his grandfather is waiting, paperwork spread across the table. 

The maid bows, excuses herself, and now it’s just the old man and Claude. The old man looks shockingly young for his age — like he’s fifty rather than seventy-something — and he looks a hell of a lot like his mom. His hair is gray, but Claude can tell it used to be a soft, honey brown. His eyes are a faded green, but Claude can tell from the portraits that they used to be vibrant, just like Claude’s. His face is pale and wrinkled, but his face is… kind. 

His grandfather speaks first. “Tell me,” he says, his voice cracks. “How is Helena?”

_ Helena? Oh. _“My mom is doing well,” Claude says, Fódlan’s language settling itself in between his teeth. “She’s happy. She rather likes a monthly festival we have on the other side to celebrate the crescent moon.”

His grandfather has tears in his eyes. “Oh, Helena…” he looks out to Fódlan’s Throat in the distance and turns back to face Claude. “I miss my children more than anything,” he tells Claude. “Godfrey — he’s your uncle — was taken before he could inherit my place, and I’ve refused to back down into Gloucester’s hands,” he says, like Claude knows anything about Alliance politics yet. “But you. If what you say is true, you have the family crest. You have _ proof _of being my grandson.”

Claude smiles easily, trying for something friendly and understanding. “Bubba,” he says. It’s an Almyran endearment for elders, and his grandfather seems genuinely touched. “I’d be honored.”

“You’re sixteen,” he says, achingly. “The crown prince and imperial princess are the same age as you, so it’d be too hasty for me to pass on the title now. Besides… the other houses and countries don’t even know you exist yet.”

“Other houses,” Claude repeats. 

His grandfather seems startled. “I apologize. You’re not acquainted with our politics yet. I imagine they’re much different than the ones you’re used to. Here…”

He pulls out a large map of Fódlan. This, Claude has seen many times before. His grandfather points to a city on the eastern side, decorated with a strange crescent moon. “This is where we are,” he tells Claude. “Derdriu, capital of the Alliance. Our ancestors that bore the crest of Riegan carved a sovereign nation into eastern Fódlan.”

“Riegan,” Claude says thoughtfully. “What exactly are crests anyway, Bubba?”

Claude is seated next to his grandfather at a large round table. His fingers itch to tap on the surface, but he restrains himself. He’s prepared for the worst — shouting, cursing, insults; blades, acids, poisons. None of the other nobles have arrived yet, but Claude’s _ itching _to meet them. He needs to know what’s waiting for him here. With care, he pushes his accent to his throat and brings his mother’s voice to his mind, letting it settle on his tongue and teeth.

Two squires open the door ceremoniously and five lordly-looking Lords walk with their own assortment of partners, children, squires, the works. 

To Claude’s right, a middle-aged man with purple hair and matching eyes. At his side is clearly his son, giving Claude the stink-eye. His son has a _ rose _ on his shirt, and Claude has to control himself from bursting into laughter and calling him an assortment of colorful words. Purple-prudes, he settles on. Next to purple-prudes is a set of three very pink-people. The one in the middle is the oldest, with a proud face and pink eyes staring at Claude with a raised eyebrow. On his left is a broad man with _ heart clips _ in his hair, and on his right is a girl with hair pulled back into twin tails, staring at her nails. Next to pink-people is a single woman with a face that reminds Claude of his mother. She looks the most… _ normal. _Do people in Fódlan normally have such colorful hair? It seems so, because next to normal-woman is another set of bright colors. A man and a woman with matching soft pink hair — softer than pink-people — and next to them is a young girl with startling white hair. Then it loops back to Claude’s grandfather, and thus House Riegan.

His grandfather clears his aged throat. “I, Duke Riegan, thank you all for coming on such short notice.”

Behind them all is a single woman writing down what his grandfather says. A scribe? _ Fascinating. _

“How could we not?” Purple-prude, the father sniffs. “An heir to House Riegan found so suddenly? A… miracle.”

“A miracle indeed,” Purple-prude, the son repeats disdainfully.

Normal-woman smiles casually. “I always knew Helena was alive. There’s no way that b — that woman could die off the grid.” At the mention of Helena, normal-woman startles, as if realizing something. “I apologize, boy,” she says, meeting Claude’s gaze. “Awfully presumptuous of us to assume you know who we are based on appearance alone. I’m Lady Judith of House Daphnel. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Normal-woman — Judith — nods at him and Claude nods back. “It’s alright, I’ve done some reading since I’ve arrived. I could _ probably _guess if I had to. I’m Claude… von Riegan, I guess.”

“Guess, then,” Purple-prude, the son demands. Claude has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Riegan, Daphnel, Goneril, Ordelia, and Gloucester are the five noble houses that meet in these conferences,” Claude says, the words feeling clunky in his mouth. He’s so out of his comfort zone. He needs to have information to gain the advantage. “Obviously, House Riegan is accounted for… and if you’re House Daphnel,” he locks eyes with Judith before making rounds around the room.

Nader told a rambunctious story of a pink-haired general that managed to knock his axe out of his hand before Claude left. Goneril territory borders the throat… He locks eyes with pigtail girl. “House Goneril,” he says. Then, they swivel around to the other pink family, the ones with a white-haired daughter. The daughter stares at him, too, curiosity burning in her eyes. “House Ordelia,” he guesses, before staring at purple-prude, the son. His grandfather felt some disdain for the house of craft, and since Claude’s getting bad vibes: “So you must be House Gloucester.”

Purple-prude, the son, sniffs. “Lorenz Hellman Gloucester,” he says reluctantly. A tiny smirk graces Claude’s face.

Lord Goneril smiles at Claude. “I’m glad Helena’s still kicking,” he says. “How is she? Where is she?”

“She’s happy,” Claude answers. “Living her life… not here. She didn’t want me to tell, and I’m unfortunately bound to keep my mother’s secrets.”

Lord Goneril bursts into laughter. “That’s the Helena I remember!”

Lord Gloucester stares at Claude. “Do you have proof that you have Riegan blood, boy?”

“I’d assume so if the meeting was called, Lord Gloucester,” pigtail girl says, clearly bored. Lord Gloucester sputters silently and Claude meets eyes with her again. She mouths _ Hilda _and returns to glancing at her nails. 

“D’you got a crest?” The other pink man says. “Holst Hans Goneril, by the way.”

“Pleasure,” Claude flashes a smile. He raises his hand and concentrates, just like his grandfather showed him to. The moon-shaped crest glows golden above his palm. “Minor crest of Riegan. Didn’t know I had it until recently, hence why I’m only here now, and not like, ten years ago.”

“Did Helena not tell you her father was the sovereign duke?” Lady Ordelia asks curiously. 

“Nope,” Claude pops the _ p. _

Silence.

In an experiment, Claude lets his elbow rest on the table and finds immense enjoyment in Lorenz gasping. “Clearly,” he hisses like Claude personally offended him. A controlled smile returns to Claude’s face, and with grace, he easily regains control of the meeting and it ends with everyone recognizing Claude as the heir of House Riegan. 

_ Perfect. _

After the meeting and the nobles begin to fold their papers and make their niceties, Claude makes a bee line for the door. He manages to exit before noticing pigtails — Hilda — is right behind him. 

“Hey,” Hilda says, twirling some hair around her finger. Her eyes are wide and innocent, and Claude’s immediately on edge. “I’m Hilda Valentine Goneril. You’re very cute, you know…”

Claude laughs, startled. He’s been spoken to by people his age, yes, but never like this. “No need to act, my Lady!”

Hilda giggles, rolling her eyes. Her hand drops to her side. “You saw through me so easily! Lorenz _ always _falls for that.”

Claude mentally puts that way: _ Lorenz: gullible with (pretty) ((noble? he seems the type)) girls _ and _ Hilda: crafty and uses her feminine wiles to manipulate boys. _

He likes her already. It’s going much better than any friendship he tried to have back home. Not only that, but House Goneril is the main military force that guards Fódlan’s Throat from Almyran invaders. A friendship with that could mean…

_ No, no, let’s not get too hasty, Claude, _ he says to himself mentally. _ One step at a time. _

“Claude von Riegan,” he says a bit easier this time. “I’ve heard about House Goneril. I’m pleased that the daughter of the easternmost house saw fit to follow me out!”

“You’re interesting,” she says. “I’ve grown up around the other House kids enough to know they’re _ boring. _All Lorenz talks about is his nobility, Lysithea only cares about studying — she’s the Ordelia girl, by the way — and Judith doesn’t have kids! I guess Lord Edmund adopted a daughter, but I haven’t met her yet.”

“I have… impressions on all of you,” Claude says carefully. He has to dip into some half-truths, because this girl is clearly a schemer, too. “So far, I think you’re my favorite.”

“I’m flattered!” Hilda smiles. It’s soft and sincere, and that’s all Claude needs.

Claude goes to sleep in his new bed with a friend on his mind. His first friend.

The tears return and Claude sleeps them away.

* * *

_ Dear Mother and Father, _

_ Haha, I’m never writing that phrase again. Too formal. Anyways: _

_ I’ve made it. I’m in Derdriu writing this letter, and I’m still going to be here when you read it. Don’t expect these too often; it turns out messenger birds that fly to Almyra are rare to come by, and I can’t just mail it across the Throat. _

_ How annoying. _

_ Grandpa is healthy, in case you were worried. Lady Judith and Lord Goneril seemed to miss you. I think Judith was going to call you a curse word lovingly, but she held back on account of Count Gloucester. Things are going well, I’ve even made a friend. _

_ I’m not gonna lie though, I miss you guys. But! Don’t worry. My dreams will bear fruit and we’ll be together again. I promise. _

_ Your son, _

_ Claude (the Shooting Star, von Riegan. Take your pick.) _

**Author's Note:**

> i was thinking about hilda and claude's friendship and how happy it makes me, but also how smart it is for claude to befriend hilda, a daughter of house goneril, the house that deals w/ the almyran army the most. like? i love how smart and strategic claude is. claude if youre out there.... im a lesbian but ur cool
> 
> this was inspired a bunch by @kyleenim on twitter & their assortment of claude content! [heres one of my favs...](https://twitter.com/kyleenim/status/1170917620343877633) just a claude and his mama :')


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